


Viable Options

by ixchel55



Category: Black Hawk Down (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-05
Updated: 2006-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixchel55/pseuds/ixchel55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the tense aftermath of the military engagement in Mogadishu, a tentative connection is strengthened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viable Options

**Author's Note:**

> Hoot Gibson is a composite character created for the movie Black Hawk Down, not a real person. Matt Eversmann does exist in real life. The characters in my story have nothing to do with any real person but rather the movie characters as created by Eric Bana and Josh Hartnett. The situations here are completely fictitious and absolutely no disrespect is intended.
> 
> This story was originally written as a Xmas Exchange Fic on the LJ comm blackhawk_fic for azewewish (Brenda).

Hoot's widely envied ability to fall asleep anyplace, no matter what was happening and for any length of time was noticeably absent as sleep danced mockingly just beyond his reach. Every time his eyes would drift shut and his body would become deliciously slack, swaying on the edge of sleep, some small noise—a cough, a sigh, the creak of a cot under shifting weight, a muted moan—would jolt him awake once more. Then he'd be back to starring up at the metal crisscross of scaffolding at the top of the huge hanger that had been his living room, dining room and bedroom for the past few weeks.

His and several hundred other men.

Sighing softly to keep from disturbing the men around him who actually could sleep, Hoot tucked his left hand under his pillow and absently scratched at his bare belly with his right, fingers plucking at the fine line of hair running downward under his navel.

He knew he wasn't the only Operator still awake despite the fact that he could hear the deep even breaths of Sanderson to his left and soft snores to his right. His fellow Deltas might be more intensively trained, older and more disciplined than the majority of the Rangers, but that wasn't proof against your mind taking you where you didn't want to go when there was nothing immediate to demand your attention.

It was only by sheer force of will that Hoot kept his head from turning to look at the signs of abandoned life that surrounded them; dangling broken threads of existence waiting to be neatly snipped and tucked away. The chess match that would now forever be in check but never checkmate; challenged words that would never have a satisfactory judging; a one-eyed dragon that would never be slain and a knight who would never finish his quest and return home to his girls.

Too many others to count.

By force of habit, Hoot willed his mind to a calmer place. There was still work to be done, men to bring home and though for some it would merely be to bring the small measure of peace to families that closure provides, for others there was still hope.

A low moan drifted from Ranger country, drawing Hoot's attention and he watched as a tall figure, too solid to be called lanky—but not by much—rolled from a cot and came to his full height.

Eversmann.

Hoot watched as the young sergeant moved quietly among the cots, bending slightly to touch a shoulder, stilling the low sound that had caught their attention. There was a quiet murmur, a quick pat to a shoulder, and then Eversmann was moving away.

Eversmann had been teetering on the edge of 'mother hen' for the past twenty-four hours. Hoot had known it even before Wilkie had talked to him. Hoot had known it would happen even as he left the boy in the Pakistani Stadium yesterday morning.

Boy.

If there'd been any boys in this barracks on Sunday, they were definitely all grown up come Monday morning, but that still didn't stop Hoot from feeling ancient compared to them.

He tracked Eversmann as the Ranger made his way through the crowded hanger, losing sight of him as he passed beyond a bank of lockers.

Not giving himself time to second guess what he was considering, Hoot rolled to his feet, stuffing them inside the low civilian boots he'd worn on his intel forays into the Bakara Market. He gave the laces a quick tug to tighten them. Bending over he retrieved his pistol from beneath his pillow and stuffed it into his waistband at the small of his back. Hoot didn't even make a trip to the can without a weapon, not while he was so near a hot zone. That practice had saved his life on more than one occasion. He also pulled a t-shirt on over his lightly sweating skin almost as an afterthought. While it still verged on being uncomfortably warm inside the big metal box that housed them, outside, with the sun long down, the air would be cooler.

As he passed Wilkinson's bunk the whispered admonition, "Don't hurt him," made Hoot hesitate ever so slightly. Hoot had no intention of hurting Matt Eversmann. He just wanted to offer him something he needed, something they both needed, and how much or how little that 'something' consisted of was completely up to the young Ranger.

Approaching the hanger door Matt would have exited by, Hoot saw Steele talking quietly with the sentry who stood just outside the entrance. Neither speeding up nor slowing down his unhurried pace, Hoot met Steele's eyes over the sentry's shoulder and schooled his face to neutrality, careful to erase any trace of challenge. Unlike the other times when their paths had crossed, Hoot's intention was not to prod and test the unbending, humorless Ranger captain but to simply ignore him.

Strangely enough Hoot could see from the look on the other man's face and the way his eyes flicked to his right into the darkness and then back to Hoot, that Steele knew the lay of the land. Hoot could also see the split second decision being made in those piercing blue eyes and was faintly surprised that Steele elected not to throw up any roadblocks.

A careful tiny nod of acknowledgement without a break in his instructions to the sentry who had his back to Hoot's approach sent Hoot's estimation of Steele's character up several notches. But then Hoot had never doubted Steele's drive to take care of his men. Hoot was just surprised at Steele's grasp of the situation and his tacit sanctioning of Hoot's unorthodox methods. With a small nod of his own, Hoot slipped quietly out the far side of the wide doorway and into the covering darkness.

It didn't take him very long to locate his objective. Around the corner of the building he could see Matt's outline at the back edge of the hanger, leaning against the corrugated sheet metal wall, half in and half out of the shadows. He was starring out into the night at the darkened, broken outline that was all that remained of the skyline of the Mog.

Mogadishu was once a cosmopolitan city of ancient architecture that stood shoulder to shoulder with high-rises housing four star hotels and restaurants. Now it was mostly reduced to rubble by years of civil war. The only buildings left more or less intact were the mosques with their minarets. The Muslim religion was the only thing that almost all the factions had in common.

This was a city and a people broken, on the edge of oblivion. It had happened countless times before in the march of history and Hoot was damn sure it would happen countless times again. Some recovered—this place might or might not—but they were never the same again.

Hoot kept his footsteps lightly audible and steady as he approached Matt from behind. He could tell that the other man was aware of his presence by the slight stiffening of his posture but he didn't turn around and a part of Hoot wanted to kick the younger man's ass for being so blasé about who was approaching him from behind. After all, there was no way for Matt to know for sure who was coming up behind him without actually looking, but this was neither the time nor the place for such a lesson so he just tucked it away into the mental folder labeled 'Unfinished Business' and pressed on.

"You're still thinkin'," Hoot drawled softly, smiling as Matt seemed to relax and stand taller at the same time. "I thought we already discussed this. You were thinkin' so loud it woke me up all the way across the hanger."

Matt snorted softly. "You weren't asleep anymore than I was. Besides—what? I'm in the army now? I should stop thinking? Stop thinking about this?" he asked with a nod toward the devastated urban sprawl.

"Not altogether," Hoot murmured, coming to a stop just behind the other man. "Just set it aside for now. Let it get just enough dust on it to mute down the colors a bit. Give it time to calm down in your head."

Matt didn't answer for a minute. "That's easier said than done."

"I know," Hoot drawled softly. "It works better if you get you some sleep. You been able to sleep at all?"

"A little," Matt replied in a voice roughened with exhaustion. "That's easier said than done, too. But I guess you already know that. I thought you were a legend, that you never had trouble sleeping."

"Well, they say it's the exceptions that make the rules. I guess this is one of those times."

"So what's stopping you from sleeping?"

Hoot grinned briefly. "Can't shut my mind down," he admitted, smiling again when he heard Matt's quiet snort of amusement. "Too much information that I can't do anything with. No viable options right now."

Again, Matt didn't answer right away. This time he took so long that Hoot thought he'd let the whole conversation just slide away and go back to reliving the immediate past. When he did speak, it was almost a surprise.

"Will you be going back into the Mog?" Matt asked softly.

Hoot hesitated. "Not until the situation changes," he finally said. He could sense that Matt desperately wanted to ask him more—what he'd seen, what he knew—and was relieved and grateful when the other man let it drop, however reluctantly.

"So…don't you have some kind of Delta relaxation technique to fall back on? Bio-feedback or something?" Matt teased softly.

"Or somethin'," Hoot agreed, stepping closer. "It's an old method, tried and true, but it works better with a buddy." He moved closer still until he could begin feel the heat of the other man down the length of his own body.

Matt still hadn't turned around to face him but he did tilt his head until Hoot caught a glimpse of his profile in the weak moonlight.

"Sanderson…?"

"Is asleep," Hoot said quietly. "And while he's been known to lend a helpin' hand in the past, that don't mean he'd be my first choice right now."

Hoot watched as Matt's shoulder's rose under a deep breath.

"I'd help." The words were spoken so low that Hoot had to strain a bit to hear but there'd been no hesitation in Matt's voice, no uncertainty.

Hoot curved the palm of his hand around the angle of Matt's hip and pressed up close behind him. "I'd like that just fine," Hoot murmured, enjoying the way Matt shivered when the words whispered across the curve of his ear.

Hoot felt Matt's body melt ever so slightly back against his own before the young Ranger straightened and tried to turn and face him. Hoot stopped him by tightening his hand on the taut hip beneath it and sliding his other arm around Matt's body, planting his hand flat on the hard chest and pulling Matt's body in more tightly against his own. Hoot wanted to feel the strong length of a male body pressed tightly to his own. Since they were going to be forced to remain standing, getting what he wanted while remaining face to face wasn't very practical.

Hoot cupped the growing bulge of Matt's cock through his fatigues, squeezing lightly. Matt moaned softly and reached down to cover Hoot's hand with his own, fingertips carefully tracing the backs of Hoot's fingers and trailing over the tendons in the back of his hand. That hesitant affirmation and encouragement was more arousing to Hoot than he could have imagined.

The way Matt reached behind him with the other hand to clutch at Hoot's ass, pulling him in tight against Matt's own buttocks caused a groan of his own as Hoot obliged, grinding his stiff cock into taut, rounded muscle.

Hoot was rubbing and kneading Matt's chest, massaging the stiffened nipples through the material of his t-shirt, but it was less than satisfactory. Impatiently Hoot reached down and tugged the tail of the shirt out of Matt's waistband then slid his palm over slightly moistened skin, pushing the bunched t-shirt higher as his fingertips sought and found the crinkled aureoles of flesh, teasing and plucking them into tight points.

While the opportunities of privacy were extremely limited and Hoot was aware that they were about as alone as they were going to be able to manage, a little more camouflage was definitely in order. Pivoting slightly Hoot drew back into the deep shadows against the building, putting his back to the wall, the other side of which was an unoccupied storage room so at least it wouldn't matter if sound bled through a little.

Hoot was incredibly grateful that he and Matt were approximately the same height when Matt's ass fit comfortably in the slight cup of his own hips. The slow grind of Matt's ass against his aching cock was enough to force a whispered "Jesus" from Hoot. He gave Matt's cock a last squeeze before starting to work on the straining opening in his fatigues, pulling his other hand down from under Matt's shirt to expedite matters. He made quick, practiced work of the fly and was soon delving into the opening of what Hoot was sure were regulation olive drab skivvies. He wrapped his hand around hot straining flesh and pulled Matt's cock out into the cooler night air.

Matt's breath stuttered in his throat, his head falling back onto Hoot's shoulder, as Hoot ran his thumb over the moist head of his cock then slid his palm down, wrapping his hand firmly around the shaft and milking upwards. The soft, strangled sound that Matt made when Hoot's callused fingers gathered the extra moisture and spread it down his hot length made Hoot grin in satisfaction. Then it was Hoot's turn to groan, tucking his face into the side of Matt's perspiring throat when Matt reached behind him with both hands to knead and stroke Hoot's ass and flanks as he pressed and ground his ass in a damn fine imitation of a vertical lap-dance.

Hoot released a small chuff of laughter at having the tables turned on him so ably.

Hoot wished he could see what he was doing but the darkness in the shadows was nearly complete. Night training enabled a soldier to 'see' in the dark with his fingers to some extent, but it definitely wasn't the same as seeing the hardened flesh, flushed dark with blood and glistening from the moisture seeping from the tip with his own eyes. He'd just have to make due with touch, helped along by his other senses.

There was the scent of purely masculine musk and clean sweat; the taste of clean skin and salty sweat gathered from broad tongue swipes over Matt's throat which vibrated with the sounds of his low moans; and Hoot would just have to use his imagination when it came to 'seeing' Matt's face, flushed and perspiring, mouth gaping for air as Hoot slid his fingers into the slit of the boxers to gently fondle and tug at the testicles, firm with desire inside the soft, crinkled sac.

Shuddering with his own growing need, Hoot began fisting Matt's cock more rapidly while his other hand burrowed back beneath the t-shirt, stroking the smooth, hard expanse of Matt's damp chest and tugging a little more roughly at the pointed nipples. Hoot sucked softly at the flesh of Matt's throat, savoring the taste and the feel of the firm flesh beneath his lips as he ground and humped into the rounded buttocks pressing against him, wildly wishing for an opportunity to sink more deeply into that firm ass. He had to restrain the desire to suck the blood to the surface of the skin, to sink his teeth in ever-so-slightly - to mark him; but the bounds of 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' might be strained a little too much by the presence of such obvious passion marks in a female free environment. Years of having to be discrete gave Hoot the training to hold back most sound and to muffle what couldn't be subdued against willing flesh.

One of Matt's hands rose to cup the back of Hoot's neck, blunt nails scratching lightly at the short hairs, fingers tightening convulsively as a guttural sound escaped him as he neared his release. Matt turned his head until his mouth was gasping for air against the side of Hoot's face, hot breaths gusting harshly near his ear.

Hoot raised his face from the moist curve of Matt's throat to capture the loud moan that escaped when the young Ranger climaxed hot and wet over Hoot's fingers. Mouths open, wet and pressing hotly together, Hoot drank down the uncontrolled, almost anguished sounds that Matt made as his body jerked convulsively with his release, his hands tightening almost to the point of pain on Hoot's neck and ass.

'That's gonna leave a mark,' Hoot thought about the five fingertip sized bruises that were bound to show on his left ass cheek tomorrow. That was the last coherent thought he had before grinding his aching cock into the firm curve of Matt's ass and coming hot and messy in his own boxers, mouth working furiously on Matt's, gentling slowly as the spasms passed.

Tongue reaching out to lap at Matt's open, panting mouth, Hoot slowed the movement of his hand, but still leisurely jacking Matt's spent cock until Hoot felt the other man flinch a little at the over stimulation of sensitive flesh. Letting Matt's cock slide moistly from his hand, Hoot continued to hump languidly against the relaxed body slumped so bonelessly close to his as he coasted down from his own high.

Finally coming down, Matt began to return Hoot's kiss; tongue and lips languid in a post-orgasmic haze, his fingers gliding through short cropped hairs to cup the back of Hoot's head.

Hoot wiped off the majority of Matt's come on the wall behind him before it joined the other in soothing Matt's still quivering body in long, smooth strokes; like gentling a skittish horse.

Much too soon for his own liking, Hoot slid his mouth from the other man's before slowly pushing Matt away to stand on his own feet. Holding onto him until he was sure that Matt was standing steady, Hoot ducked his head and lightly bit the exposed nape of the young Ranger's neck, making the man shiver slightly and attempt to push backwards once more. Hoot smiled against the soft bristle of short, damp hair before stepping away.

"Think you can sleep now?" asked Hoot, smiling at Matt's tired, fumbling attempts to put his clothes in order as he stumbled forward a step or two into the moonlight.

"Mmmm." Matt hummed softly in agreement, turning to face Hoot fully for the first time. "What about you?"

"Oh, I think I'm gonna be able to sleep just fine now," Hoot drawled.

"No, I mean did you..."

"I'm good, Matt, don't you worry about that."

"Oh." Matt sounded faintly disappointed. "But I didn't get to…" He gestured vaguely toward Hoot, letting the sentence trail off between them.

"Next time," Hoot smiled.

Matt hesitated, eyes on the ground before looking straight at Hoot, still drenched in shadows. "_Is_ there going to be a 'next time'," he asked solemnly.

Hoot moved forward into the moonlight. "If you want there to be," he said simply.

Matt studied Hoot for a long moment before stepping towards him. Cupping the back of his neck he pulled Hoot in for a quick, hard kiss, tongue flicking out to teasingly touch Hoot's lips before stepping back.

"Yeah, I do want that," Matt said with quiet decisiveness.

"Well alright then. After you," Hoot drawled, gesturing back toward the front of the hanger. "Rangers lead the way," he reminded the younger man.

Hoot saw the small smile that Matt threw over his shoulder at him. "All the way," he agreed.

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to this is in the works.


End file.
